Exposure
by Miss.Mil
Summary: Their timing has always been a little off. A year after their return to the Alpha Quadrant, a conversation exposes the unique depths of her feelings. Post-Endgame.


_a/n: Originally, this was intended to be the third part in the 'Last Goodbyes' series. In the end I felt it was better as a standalone._

* * *

 **Exposure**

He sits perfectly still, a dark silhouette against the bright white of the snow that lay at his feet and over the landscape around him. His scarf lays crumpled in his lap, barely covering one knee as the wind begins to pick at its tattered edges.

She can't recall him ever having a scarf.

The chill is settling outside, settling deep into his bones and she can almost see the shivers running down his spine. From her place inside, by the window, it looks utterly freezing. His shoulders are hunched, one elbow resting heavily on the one knee she guesses is probably beginning to protest by now.

But still, he does not move.

She noticed him through half-distracted glances an hour or so before. She's been watching him from the corner of her eye ever since, continuing with ease to carry on conversations with former members of her crew as they gathered for the first-year anniversary of their homecoming.

Only now, the party is dying down and she's moved to a frosted window to look out at him once more.

He looks - even from this distance - exactly how she feels. Alone. Nervous. Fragile and overwhelmed. She's been trying most of the afternoon to find her courage, speak to him and try to find that balance they once had, years before on _Voyager._ Only she has yet to find the perfect moment.

They haven't crossed paths for most of the past year, so she shouldn't be surprised that today is no different. A part of her is extremely grateful that they have yet to find themselves alone. She thinks that he has probably been avoiding her on purpose, and now that the distractions are gone, he has vanished outside to sit in the snow.

He's caught her eye a few times though, as she's risked further glances to him in the past hour. If anyone noticed her distraction, they haven't commented. In that moment when their eyes met, across the expanse of white, her heart to begins thudding painfully in her chest.

His eyes hold little warmth, and it's something she has yet to grow accustomed to over the past year. No matter how many layers she wears, or how the distance that grows between them, she can never rid herself of the feeling of exposure whenever he looks at her with that coldness. She feels in those moments as if she is exposed to the world, or at the very least exposed to the one man who, at one point, knew her better than she knew herself.

She risks another glance, a look through thick glass and toward his place by the old oak tree that has long-since lost its leaves. She sucks in a deep breath, filling her aching lungs as if she might never draw breath again. In that moment he turns, just a fraction, but enough for his eyes to meet her own across the expanse of the frozen yard.

She thinks that she can almost read his expression, even at this distance, and she waits for him to move. Only he doesn't, and his dark silhouette remains perfectly frozen in time against a wintery backdrop.

A moment's pause, and then she moves, making up her mind and grabbing her coat from the hook to her left. She sighs, shoving an arm through a sleeve as she risks another glance at his dark, brooding figure. It's a stark contrast to the paleness of the grey sky above.

It's a terrible reminder of what they've done.

She shuts her eyes tightly, and surges through the door. The snow has become thicker during the hours she's been inside, and the icy cold seeps through her boots in a matter of steps.

She approaches him, slowly, because now that they are finally able to talk alone. She has no idea what to say to him. But nonetheless, she wills herself forward. The coat is tugged tighter around her in a vain attempt to further protect her from the steel she knows she will find in his eyes.

A lump is forming in her throat, the same one that appears whenever she thinks of him. Her body tingles with the memory of him lying against her, the callous touch of his hands, the safety of his arms and the feeling that it was far better than any experience she can name.

Her coat collar is turned up so high against the biting wind that she's sure only the tip of her nose is visible through the masses of auburn hair now blowing around her face.

She's suddenly regretting letting her hair grow long again.

He's still facing away from her, shoulders hunched against the wind. She can't remember a time when he's looked so defeated, save for the day she told him goodbye.

And she's spent every day of the past year regretting that decision.

She shuts her eyes tightly again. Knowing that he never made it down the aisle - that the timeline the Admiral had predicted would not come to pass - was never enough to quell that feeling of betrayal and she wonders, not for the first time, if this is what it feels like to have had an affair.

For many months now, she has wished herself back to an earlier time. A time when she didn't know of his impending marriage to Seven of Nine. A time when she had not become so bitter and broken from exposure to the world with a smudging of guilt added to her already overwhelmed conscience.

With horror, she realises that she really _needs_ him. And somehow, she knows that she always will.

She opens her eyes finally, to look where she is walking for fear of falling in a hole that she can't see for the snow. The harsh grey light is blinding, making her squint and hold a hand over eyes as she looks again at his hunched figure.

He rises gently, stiffly, and holds the scarf limply in a large hand. The wind continues to batter the frayed edges, the fine threads weaving themselves free to follow the breeze.

He glances as her, brown eyes searching her up and down as she continues to tread toward him. All too soon she stands before him and still the words won't come.

"Admiral," he speaks eventually, his voice gravelly with what little use its had over the course of the day.

The use of her title stings more than she expected. The last time, that time they'd said goodbye, he'd addressed her as Captain. The word had left his mouth with malice, intending to hurt her and point out that once again she was choosing duty over him.

Only she wasn't, not this time. But she'd never found the words to explain the guilt and he'd mistaken her silence for affirmation. He'd nodded, understanding as always and left without another word.

Her promotion had followed soon after, but she's never forgotten the way he'd spoken her title with such disdain.

"Chakotay."

His name sounds foreign to her ears because after all this time, she'd never allowed herself the luxury to breath it. She breaths it now, because ranks are not important here and this should be a conversation between two people who once cared greatly for each other.

He looks down at her, noting the light flush to her pale cheeks. The strands of hair whipping around the cheeks bones that have become slightly more angular since their last meeting. She is still as beautiful as he remembers.

"You've been avoiding me," he says simply. She ducks her head, burying what little she can of her face into the collar of her coat. She knows it's true.

"I could say the same of you," she mutters in reply.

The corners of his mouth tighten, and she realises that he is a little uncomfortable. It's rather unlike him, but before she can think further he speaks again.

"I thought we were avoiding each other. Because of what happened so soon after we made it home."

She breathes out now, releasing a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. The need to address this, address _them_ has been nearly twelve months coming and they've both been avoiding it far too long.

"What we did was wrong."

"No," he cuts over quickly. "What we did was seven years coming. It may have been stupid, but it was never wrong."

She huffs a little, looking up at him and squints against the brightness of the dull sky behind him. She could never argue against his logic, and deep down she knew he was right. The only thing that had made it so wrong was their timing, nothing more.

She can't blame him for the dalliance with Seven, but it had hurt anyway. She honestly couldn't say that she wouldn't have tried to do the same had she been in his position.

Only she wasn't, and she never would be.

"So, what now?" she asks, the wind carrying her voice despite the softness of the words.

He takes a moment, surprising her as he wraps the scarf around her neck. Despite her coat, she's freezing. He picks a little at the frayed edges, dragging a fine thread out and watching as it unravels, curling in the air.

"I love you Kathryn," he says. The words, in their elegant simplicity, hit her in the chest because he's never said them before. Or has he? Perhaps he has but she's never been willing to hear them before now.

He must see the disbelief in her face, because he drops his hand away from the scarf and instead holds her arms, large hands resting on the thick material of her coat. "I do," he adds firmly. "But I won't do this again if you're going to run."

She doesn't need to ask what _this_ is. She knows, because she's spent every night since the day they'd said goodbye dreaming of what would happen if they ever decided to give it another chance.

It seemed too cruel, to survive seven years in an uncharted part of the universe. They'd stood stoically by each other's sides with nothing more than the promise of one day to sustain them only to make it home and realise that despite everything, maybe they were never destined to work.

Only she couldn't believe that, and the way he was looking at her now told her that he felt exactly the same.

She can't breathe the words just yet, those three words hovering on the tip of her tongue but unable to be spoken. It's too soon, and she has difficulty in believing the seriousness of his declaration.

It would be easier, she imagines, if she didn't know he'd said them to another first.

She does love him though, more than she ever thought possible and it's only now, standing in a frozen yard with numb feet and a pounding heart that she begins to realise just how much.

His hands drop from her arms, resting at his side. His fingers flex, trying without much success to warm them and regain some semblance of feeling.

"I…" she starts, pausing as he looks down at her with a burning intensity. He's awaiting her answer, silently willing her to whisper the words he so desperately needs to hear. Only she can't, not yet and so she settles for something else instead. "I don't know what to do."

He laughs, a small breathy huff that's caught somewhere between hilarity and disbelief. "How about you tell me what you _want_."

The answer to that is so easy, because it's been flittering in the forefront of her mind for most of her days, only to reaffirm itself in her thoughts the second she steps into her empty apartment.

She just needs to force herself to say the word.

His scarf around her neck smells just like him, it's old and battered fabric soothing to her frayed nerves.

"You."

He smiles then, fully and it lights up her grey world.

"Then we don't need to discuss anything else right now."

He steps forward, reaching for her again but instead of grasping her arms, he grabs at the fabric of her coat. His hands close of over the lapels, dragging her a step closer.

The snow scuffs off the toe of her soaked boots, and she stumbles into him without much grace. But he's warm and solid, the fine weave of his coat soft to her cheek as she rests against his chest.

He's hesitant at first, arms now moving to hover over her back, unsure if he should fully embrace her because right now it could go either way. Only for her, she's tired of fighting, and the feel of him against her is exactly what she's needed for years.

The wind blows, howling around them and tossing up the loose snow dust at their feet. The ice stings as it batters her hands, and what little of her face is still exposed. Although it's been just minutes, she's frozen to the core and she can't even begin to fathom how he's lasted hours out here.

Hours on a gloomy, grey afternoon waiting for her to stop running and come to him.

She steps back after a minute, pulling against his arms though they don't let go of her completely.

"Are we really going to do this?"

His fingers tighten, pressing into the muscles of her back as he considers his answer. "We just needed time, Kathryn."

The words are so simple, so obvious and she can't help but think that if they'd only waited a few weeks, they wouldn't have been in this mess for the past year. Only they couldn't wait, and they'd been so frantic with the years of built-up tension that the guilt had soon consumed her the second they'd stopped to breathe.

"It's okay," he says after a moment.

Her eyes focus on him, and she really _sees_ him. There are more lines around his brow now, and she thinks that it's probably because he hasn't smiled in so long. It hurts a little on the inside to know that she's the reason why.

She smiles for the first time in what feels like years. She lets the warmth wash over her features, feeling the familiar pull of skin at the corners of her eyes and delighting in the reaction it gets from the man looking at her with such adoration.

"I know."

And she really does know, because they've had the time to think and to process. She's taken the time she needed to heal, and to make peace with every bad decision she's ever made out there. She's accepted that, although it was not their finest hour, what they did was a long time coming, and she's been utterly unfair to the man in front of her for pushing him away for so long.

The anger, the hurt that he'd taken out on her months before as he spat her rank and walked out the door is gone and she realises now that he's been waiting ever since for this moment. Because he's also been unsure about how to fix this.

It's not a love he's ever experienced before.

But she has, and that's what's terrified her.

He takes her hand, large and warm around her own. "We owe it to ourselves to try this again, Kathryn."

She nods and looks away, glancing up at the large oak tree and its bare branches. It's still winter, but she thinks she can almost see the beginning of buds on the smallest of limbs.

"We do," she says, simply and easily.

He brings her hand to his mouth, kissing the soft skin as he smiles. The warmth of his breath as is passes over the sensitive skin burns, but she never once feels the need to pull her hand away.

She laughs now at the absurdity of the situation. For all the pain and distress of the last year, she finds it so hard to believe that they could have fixed it in a few moments. But it's what they've always been good at, finding each other again after things had started to go wrong.

They'd just taken a bit longer time.

"What?" he asks, amusement dancing over his features.

She shakes her head, loose bits of hair fluttering around her face. Her smile is still there, but it tightens a little as she realises the words that she's about to say. He pauses, looking at her with features frozen features teetering on the edge of happiness and hurt.

It comes out in a rush, the tightness in her chest easing as she finally says the words. His reaction is everything she hopes, and the feeling of guilt is no longer there when she allows herself to finally _feel_.

"I love you too, Chakotay."

* * *

 _a/n:Thank you helen8462 for her beta skills. She also suggested that it was ok for me to give them a happy ending every once in a while, because I wanted to torture them throughout the ages._

 _(I also need to really stop writing post-Endgame fics)._


End file.
